


The Debtor's Payment

by zuotian



Series: Cthulhu Cuckold [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Anal Sex, Belly Kink, Cock & Ball Torture, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, Eggpreg, Egregious Debauchery, Fluff, M/M, Masochism, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Topping from the Bottom, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-11-01 06:43:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20810783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/pseuds/zuotian
Summary: Kenny and Cartman struggle with the aftermath of Cthulhu's preposition.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FANFICTION—EVEN THOSE BASED ON A REAL SHOW—ARE ENTIRELY GRATUITOUS. ALL CANONICAL DIALOGUE IS IMPERSONATED ... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFICTION CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.

For a second Kenny thought he’d been hit by a truck. It had been awhile since he last died, but sometimes he perished so quick he didn’t know what happened until reawakening days later. For all he knew he could’ve been flattened into roadkill. It certainly felt like it. His entire body was stiff with pain, especially in his nether regions, which was an odd sign.

It took a considerable amount of effort to open his eyes. Brothy light filtered in through the window and illuminated dust mites spinning over the bed. It was morning. He was home. Not in his childhood dwellings, recently ejected from his aging mother’s ancient vagina - but  _ home _ with Cartman, who slept parallel to him stark naked. 

It smelled like cigarettes, sex, and body odor. Maybe they got really high, fucked till the witching hour, and then passed out. That would explain his overexerted muscles and fuzzy thoughts. Maybe Cartman had shoved another metal rod down his urethra and manhandled his balls. That would explain why his crotch felt like it was on fire. Kenny went a little weak in the knees for that type of masochistic stuff. But something was different. If his growing headache abated he could remember what went down. 

He turned on his back and attempted to wiggle up against the headboard. The motion set his dick and balls aflame. Kenny snapped his teeth together and breathed through the pain. Once it faded into a dull throb, he gingerly lifted the bedsheet and about passed out at what he saw. 

His penis was colored bright pink, meek and flaccid cushioned atop his fucking ginormous testes. They were big enough to be squished between his thighs. 

Last night’s events came flooding back. Head pounding with mnemonic whiplash, Kenny gripped Cartman’s fleshy shoulder to anchor himself back in reality. “Cartman, dude. Wake up.” 

Cartman predictably didn’t budge, tangled in a blanket tented by the silhouette of his enlarged stomach. Kenny feared what lay underneath. He sucked in a sharp inhale as he folded the blanket down. 

Cartman’s abdomen projected from his frame as if comically attached, out of proportion and egregiously massive. Sweat coated purple stretch marks that gouged into the bruised, distended skin. The gigantic mass rose and fell with each of Cartman’s short, raspy breaths. Kenny couldn’t imagine how much internal space it inhabited, crowding out Cartman’s vital organs, or at least restricting his lungs. 

Cartman’s eyebrows pinched. The exposure must’ve bothered him. Kenny, wondering at the sensitivity of his skin, cupped either side of his stomach. It was hot to the touch and roiling with activity, the hard shape of the eggs discernable under Kenny’s palms. 

He investigated the whole circumference and looked up. Cartman still hadn’t awoken. Nervous now, Kenny brought his hands to Cartman’s jaw and leant forward, taking care not to disturb his own gorged genitalia. “Eric. C’mon. You’re freaking me out.” He slapped Cartman’s jowls. “Wake up, man. Give me a sign you’re alright.” 

Cartman grunted, hoisted up into consciousness by the rough palpation. His face contorted in a grimace. “Fuck off,” he huffed, and turned deeper into his pillow. 

“Atta boy!” Kenny placed his hand on Cartman’s flank. After being with Cartman for so long he’d learned to withhold his tactile instincts, but something about their fucked up predicament inspired him to get touchy-feely. Cartman didn’t bother shaking him off. “How’re you holding up?” he asked. 

Cartman finally cracked his bloodshot eyes open. Kenny’s satirically-sized scrotum sat in his direct line of vision. Aggrieved by the sight, he shut his eyes again. “That wasn’t some insane wet dream, huh?” 

“Nope.”

“Weak.” 

Kenny drummed his fingers. He probably should let Cartman sleep, but he needed to know if Cartman retained memory of his repetitive deaths - or if the knowledge dissipated just like witnessing the physical act. “What all do you remember?” he asked. “Besides, y’know, your snatch getting pounded by Cthulhu.” 

“I remember you’re a piece of shit,” Cartman mumbled. “More trouble than your fucking’s worth. That was a play on words, by the way.”

“Ha-ha,” Kenny intoned. “Seriously, though.” 

Cartman sighed and lifted his head. He tried to sit up but immediately fall back with a frustrated grunt. Kenny looped his arms under Cartman’s armpits and together they accomplished the task. Cartman situated himself against the headboard, then spread his legs to make room for his stomach. That brief exercise alone caused his chest to heave. Locks of lank brown hair fell into his dark-circled eyes, and his upper lip beaded with perspiration. Kenny didn’t know how he’d maneuver once these next two weeks were up. 

“I remember this is all your fault,” he said. “I remember I prostrated myself to save your sorry ass.” 

“Thanks for that, by the way,” Kenny said. 

“Cthulhu’s your fucking  _ dad _ , man,” Cartman continued. “Does that mean he fucked your mom? Are you, like, evil Jesus?” 

“I dunno. Possibly.” 

“I’m getting you back for this, I swear.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Kenny asked. 

“Fuck if I know. Can your magic cock induce labor?” 

“We could  _ try _ .” 

Cartman appraised his dick. “That is the worst case of blue balls I’ve ever seen.” 

“Hurts like hell,” Kenny told him. “Maybe we  _ should _ fuck.” 

“Don’t know how we’ll manage that,” Cartman huffed. He patted his stomach, then scooted to the edge of the bed and staggered to his feet. He immediately lurched forward. Kenny jumped up to help, but the weight of his balls caused him to bend at his waist. 

They leaned against each other for support. “This sucks,” Kenny said. 

“It’s only gonna get worse,” Cartman replied. “We gotta take care of some shit before that.” 

“What d’you mean?” 

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I forget how much of a moron you are.” He braced his hands on his back and squatted down to retrieve a pair of sweatpants. “Cthulhu said we have two weeks. That means we need to hibernate. Who fucking knows how big I’ll get - or how your mutated dick is gonna act.” He snapped the waistband over his stomach and looked up. “We need to bunker down. Get groceries and shit, then lock ourselves in.” 

“What about work?” Kenny asked. “I don’t have enough vacation time for that!” 

“Fake an injury or something.” 

“I can’t just  _ fake _ an injury. It’s summer, dude. We’re fixing every goddamn road in town. They need me.” 

“Then I’ll break your arm myself,” Cartman said. “I’m serious, Kenny.” 

“Well, what about you?” 

“What about me? I’m my own fucking boss.” A maniacal expression passed over Cartman’s face, the one he wore when formulating a plan. “If I break your arm, I can just say I’m taking care of you. I’ll work from home, make phone calls and shit.” 

Kenny cradled his arms to his chest. “You’re not doing that, man.” 

“Fuck you,” Cartman spat. “You’re the reason we’re in this predicament! I said I’d do whatever I want to you.” 

“I thought you meant freaky sex stuff, not beating me with a baseball bat!” 

Cartman snorted. “Please. You’ll still get off on it, you masochistic fuck. Do you have a better idea?” 

Kenny sighed. “No…” 

“So it’s settled. I’m gonna break your arm. Both of em, maybe, if you don’t stop whining. We’ll do it after we go shopping. Hurry up and - “ 

An acidic burp burst through Cartman’s throat. His face went pale and he slapped his hands over his stomach. 

Kenny blinked. “What - “ 

Cartman pushed him aside and waddled out of the room. Kenny found him in the bathroom, hands braced on the counter as he puked green muck into the sink basin. The sight was so fucking nasty it triggered Kenny’s own gag reflex. He sped towards the bathtub and upchucked the same noxious barf. Apparently Cthulhu’s jizz didn’t settle well. 

“I hate you,” Cartman groaned. “I fucking hate you so much, Kenny.” 

Kenny spat a final loogie into the tub. He was beginning to see Cartman’s point. If they were this indisposed on the first day they had a world of trouble ahead of them. “Sorry,” he gasped. 

/

Kenny didn’t drive on account of several DUI charges. After being threatened with jail time he rescinded to walking and taking public transportation. Cartman always gave him shit for it, but nonetheless started taking him to and from work after they got together for real. 

Cartman drove the same way he did anything else: like a calculated maniac. He was a good driver but always went over the speed limit or took insane turns. Getting a sports car with his newfound cash didn’t help, either. Thankfully his current state impeded him from going too crazy. First of all he barely fit behind the wheel and, given their morning sickness, he went slow and steady, abiding by lawful traffic etiquette which only put him in a bad mood. 

They were currently stuck at an intersection. The light turned green. Cartman laid down on his horn. “Fucking move,” he yelled at a minivan bedecked with cheesy bumper stickers in front of them. “This bitch is probably too busy wrangling her grimy fucking kids to pay attention to the road!” 

Kenny winced at the extended honk. “Chill out, bro. It’s Sunday morning, for Christ’s sake.” 

Cartman gestured at the grotesque vinyl sticker depicting Jesus’ crucifixion. “Then she should be at church instead of giving me grief!” 

He honked again. Kenny sighed and laid his head against the window. 

The minivan finally moved ahead. Cartman sped through the intersection and yanked the car into the parking lot of a Wal-mart. Since the franchise’s demise in South Park none had taken its place, so any extensive shopping required them to drive to North Park, which was like South Park’s ugly cousin. 

Cartman popped his door open and wrenched himself out of the car. Kenny followed suit. 

“I hate this place,” Cartman said as he scanned the patrons trundling shopping carts. “It’s like a McCormick family reunion wherever you go.” 

“Yeah, it’s pretty gnarly,” Kenny commented. He adjusted his balls. They were supported by one of Cartman’s old football jockstraps; he’d worn a flowy bohemian skirt to cover up the massive bulge. “My sac itches like hell.” 

“My back hurts like hell,” Cartman said. “Consider yourself lucky, bozo.” 

Kenny snorted. “Bozo?” 

“Shut the hell up, you transvestite.” Cartman leaned against the hood of his car. “Go get me one of those scooters.” 

Kenny shivered. Any permutation of the word “scoots” still creeped him out. “Hold your horses,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” 

He strode across the parking lot, garnering all sorts of odd looks as his skirt flowed around his ankles. He hadn’t crossdressed for a long while due to the nature of his construction job. It wouldn’t do well for his burly coworkers to see him rocking women’s clothing, but he felt safe in North Park where freaks abounded. He strolled through the automatic doors, seized a motorized scooter, and rode it back to the car. 

He bowed as if presenting a noble stallion. “Here you are, sir.”

Cartman climbed on and reacquainted himself with the controls. “Been awhile since I’ve rode one of these.” 

Kenny thrust his arm ahead. “Onward!” 

Cartman’s lips spread in a wry smile. Despite all the dramatics, the scooter whirred at a slow pace. Kenny didn’t know whether the equipment was jacked or its heavy load was to blame. 

“We gotta make this quick, alright,” Cartman warned once they were inside. “I don’t want nobody seeing me. Stick to the basics.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kenny said, pushing a cart alongside Cartman. Already he was looking around at the colorful displays. After an impoverished childhood, Wal-mart still gave him the same amount of awe as Disneyworld. Cartman’s deep pockets played a part, too; he enjoyed indulging Kenny’s fancy, if only to flaunt his wealth. 

They piled the cart full of frozen food and snacks, aiming for meals which required little preparation. Kenny also nabbed an extra large jar of Vaseline for practices which required  _ lots _ of preparation. He smiled cheekily at Cartman’s annoyed glare. 

“I need a fucking  _ girdle _ ,” Cartman said. “Think they sell em here?” 

“They sell everything here, dude.”

“You’re right. Go find me a steel baseball bat.” 

Kenny’s brow furrowed. “Uh…” 

Cartman jerked his head. “Go on, get. Or you ain’t getting any of this. You don’t want your balls to explode, do you?” 

“Okay, okay,” Kenny hissed. “Quiet down. Somebody’ll hear you.” 

“As if this bucket of Vaseline is so inconspicuous!” 

“Shut the fuck up! I’m going!” 

Kenny departed with a huff and cut across the store towards the athletic section. He was so annoyed at facilitating his own ass-whopping he didn’t notice the red blob of hair down the aisle until it was too late. 

“Kenny?” 

He swung around. “Kyle?” 

Kyle smiled and waved unnecessarily. He was always doing dopey stuff like that. Him and Stan both. Ever since they got married they turned into a couple of happy-go-lucky, homosexual golden retrievers. 

He advanced in a pair of nice khakis and t-shirt advertising Fort Meyers, Florida. “How’ve you been?” he asked. His freckles stood out strong against a golden tan and a pair of sunglasses were clipped to his collar. 

“Uh, good. Didn’t know you were back.” Kenny adjusted the waistband of his skirt to ensure what laid underneath remained unobvious. “How was vacation? I saw your posts and stuff.”

“It was really fun! We had a great time.” Kyle lifted a softball mitt. “I’m looking for some last minute presents for Sarah’s birthday.” 

“Oh, shit,” Kenny cursed. “That’s coming up soon, right?”

Kyle nodded. “Two weeks from now.” 

“Fuck,” Kenny said. 

Kyle frowned. “You won’t be able to make it?” 

“Uh… I’ve got this thing. With Cartman.” 

“Oh.” Kyle glanced at Kenny’s cart. His eyes rested on the insanely large supply of Vaseline before he looked back up. “Well, she’ll want to see you. She says you’re her favorite uncle.” 

“What about Ike?” Kenny asked. 

Kyle’s irritation switched targets as Kenny hoped it would. “He won’t come down from Canada for anything, the bastard. Says he’s taking his studies very seriously.” 

“The University of Toronto is pretty prestigious,” Kenny said. “He’s getting his doctorate or something, yeah?”

“All he does is smoke pot and get laid.” Kyle shrugged. “But whatever. I’m over it. How’s it been with you and the fatass? I feel like I haven’t seen you guys in forever, with Sarah’s games and vacation and everything.” 

Kenny shrugged. “Same old, same old.” 

“Please,” Kyle scoffed. “It’s never like that with Cartman.” 

“I guess.” Kenny fixed his skirt again. His balls were like two heavy pendulums. He needed to sit or something. 

Kyle noticed the motion, of course. “I see you’re back to your, uh, old style. That’s cool.” 

“It’s breezy,” Kenny said. “Wanted to enjoy the nice weather while it lasts.” 

“Sure.” 

“Yep.” 

Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” Kenny said. “What makes you ask?” 

“You seem...off. Does Cartman need knocked down a peg?” Kyle looked around. “Where is he, anyway?” 

“Oh, you know.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t know, Kenny.”

Kenny needed to make a run for it before Kyle interrogated him. “Look, I gotta...go. It was nice seeing you. Tell Stan and Sarah I said hi.”

Kyle sighed. “Okay, well. Keep in touch. Let me know about Sarah’s birthday party.” 

“I will, I promise.”

Just as Kenny prepared to take flight, Kyle clasped his elbow. “I’m here for you, dude,” he said in that earnest way of his that made Kenny feel ashamed for things he had yet to do. “Stan, too. Just because we’re married with a kid, it doesn’t mean we don’t want to hang out. I miss Cartman, even. But only a little bit.” 

Aw, shit. Why did he have to be so insidiously nice? Kenny offered him a grin. “We’ll get together sometime soon.” He disengaged his elbow. “Peace out, Kyle.” 

“Peace out, Kenny.” 

Kenny retreated at a normal pace until he was out of Kyle’s line of sight, then sped away. He ran all around the store, balls slapping between his legs, and finally located Cartman in the women’s undergarments section.

Cartman looked up from perusing a selection of maternity girdles. “What the hell happened to you? Where’s the baseball bat?” 

“Didn’t have time,” Kenny said breathlessly. “Kyle’s here. We need to leave right now.” 

“No we don’t! Get over here.” Cartman yanked the cart next to him so that Kenny was shielded by the girdle display. “He’s probably  _ looking  _ for us, you idiot. We gotta wait it out.” He appraised Kenny’s sweaty countenance. “That sniveling Jew - he spooked ya, didn’t he?” 

“It’s not that,” Kenny said. “I mean, yeah, he did. But he was talking about Sarah’s birthday party. It’s in  _ two  _ weeks, Eric!” 

“Fuck Sarah’s birthday party!” 

“What? No! Sarah’s awesome.” 

Cartman sighed. “Okay, fine. She’s not that bad. But we _can’t _go, unless you want her to see me give birth to demon spawn. Happy fucking birthday, kiddo!” 

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Kenny whispered fiercely. 

“I’m being realistic,” Cartman snapped. 

“What are we supposed to tell her, then?” Kenny asked. “What are we supposed to tell  _ Kyle _ ?”

“We won’t tell them anything. It’s none of their business!” 

“You don’t get it,” Kenny said, “he’s onto me.” 

“That’s because you can’t keep your cool,” Cartman said. “He sniffed out your apprehension. The Jews are very perceptive people. If it was me who ran into him, you know what I’d tell him? Fuck off! Keep your hooked nose out of my  _ ass _ and go back to fucking Florida!” 

“I’m not a dick like you are,” Kenny said. “Anyway, he seemed seriously worried. Like he probably thinks you’ve got me locked in the basement.” 

“Maybe I  _ will _ lock you in the basement, since you’re such a dumbass. You can’t be trusted on your own.” Cartman snatched a girdle and tossed it next to a pack of new bedsheets in the basket of his scooter. “Just calm down. It’s one birthday party, not the end of the world. We can make it up to her later - take her to Casa Bonita and buy her a pony, or something.” 

Kenny raked his hands through his hair. “I’m freaking out, man. We won’t be able to keep this a secret for two whole weeks. The hell are we gonna tell your  _ mom _ ?” 

“My mom’s senile. I could tell her we’re going to the moon and she’d believe me.” Cartman snapped his fingers in Kenny’s face. “Hey. Chill out, alright? I’m not gonna let anything bad happen. This is under my control.” 

Cartman’s personality was so vivacious and his will so indomitable that if he injected his speech with enough gusto Kenny believed anything he said. It was part of what attracted him to Cartman when they were kids, and naturally extended into their romantic partnership (as well as their sexual ventures). Passive as he was, Kenny needed somebody to mold him, direct him one way or another; it just so happened that he walked into Cartman’s iron fist years ago, and Cartman never let him escape.

He braced his forehead on the shopping cart. “I think I’m gonna be sick again,” he moaned. 

“Don’t,” Cartman ordered. He juxtaposed his brusque tone by placing a gentle hand on Kenny’s forearm. “The coast’s oughta be clear by now. Let’s go get that baseball bat and get the fuck outta here.”

/

Kenny was subdued and Cartman on edge when they arrived back home. After stowing their groceries away and remaking the bed, Kenny assisted Cartman in trussing his stomach with the girdle. 

“How’s that fit?” he asked, kneeling on the bed before Cartman.

“Like I can’t  _ breathe _ .” Cartman turned around and rolled his shoulders. The girdle reshaped his squash-like stomach into more of an orb. “My back feels better, though.” 

“Good.” Kenny slid his hands up to cup Cartman’s breasts. Kenny loved Cartman’s boobs. They were soft and big and topped with areolas the size of saucers with chest hair sprouting in between. “Hey, y’think you’ll, like, produce milk?” 

Cartman scowled. “I’m not a broodmare, Kenny. The only reason I’m doing this is so you won’t blink out of existence.” 

“It’d be kinda sweet, though, right? I’d kill for a taste - ” 

His temple bloomed with pain before he could suckle at Cartman’s nipples. He crumpled on the floor and clutched his head, moaning.

Cartman leaned down and pushed the hair out of his face. “I won’t let you suck my teat until I break your arm. I told you I’d do it!” 

“Fuck, Eric,” Kenny whined. “You’re insane!”

Cartman snickered, swinging the metal bat in his hand. “Batter’s up, asshole!” 

“You’re shit at baseball!” 

“Think I’m gonna hit a home run, this time.” 

The bat collided with Kenny’s left arm in a righteous blow. Kenny screeched in pain and instinctively writhed away. Cartman pressed a bent knee on his chest to lock him in place. The bat came down again and again and again. The fifth or sixth time Kenny heard his bones crack and he let out a terrible howl as tears sprung in his eyes. 

“You got me,” he sobbed. “Uncle!” 

Cartman whacked him again for good measure, then let the bat clatter to the floor and hauled Kenny up into a sitting position. Kenny’s breath hitched with teary gasps of air as his arm hung listlessly at his side. 

“See?” Cartman asked. “That wasn’t so bad.” 

“Screw you,” Kenny gritted out. Saliva frothed in the corners of his mouth. “I need to go to the hospital, man.” 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Cartman hiked Kenny’s skirt up. “Aw, look at that. I knew you’d be into this.”

Kenny’s dick was erect, beading fat drops of green goo that slid down his shaft. He rubbed his thighs together despite the agony it sent to his balls. “I can’t help it…”

“I know,” Cartman said, “but we can’t have the doctors see you blow your load, can we?” 

“Just get on with it,” Kenny said. “It hurts!” 

“Your cock or your arm?” 

“Both!” 

Cartman nudged his legs apart and tittered. “Yeesh.” 

“Please,” Kenny begged. He didn’t know if it was because he was so encumbered with splooge, in so much pain, or a mix of both, but his dick was on fire, oozing copious amounts of weird precum. It was the worst boner of his life. He arched his back when Cartman grasped his cock.

Cartman’s face sharpened with focus. “You’re a mess,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

He twisted his hand. All it took was that one move and Kenny lost it. His cock geysered with green material - more of Cthulhu’s aphrodisiac, if he had the wherewithal to guess. He bucked his hips in the air as his eyes rolled in the back of his head. Jizz rained down in a torrent, wetting his hair and skirt and t-shirt. 

Cartman wiped his hand off on Kenny’s exposed thigh. “Wild.”

Kenny collapsed into the carpet, dizzy and spent. “I’m gonna pass out,” he mumbled. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Cartman groused. “Let’s go. I’ll get you a nice cast and draw a huge cock and balls on it to commemorate this moment.” 

/

Kenny fucking hated the hospital. It smelled awful and everything was too clean and bright. The nurses and doctors regarded him with clinical interest as if they’d never seen him before. In reality he’d died around a thousand times under their care. 

Cartman sat next to him in the waiting room, cracking jokes and ranting about nonsense to keep him preoccupied, which would’ve been touching if he wasn’t the reason why Kenny was here in the first place. Once they were ushered into a room Cartman constructed a three part backstory about how Kenny broke his arm at work off the top of his head, and even went as far as to announce they’d fight for worker’s compensation; Kenny knew that if Cartman showed up to his boss right then and threw a fit he’d probably get it, too. 

All told, they were back home in less than two hours. Kenny stomped into the living room, plopped on the couch, and stared at the blank flatscreen bolstered to the wall. Cartman’s fuzzy reflection appeared in the black rectangle, then sharpened as he neared and leaned over the back of the couch. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“Fuck off,” Kenny grumbled. “Leave me alone.” 

“Seriously? You’re mad at  _ me _ ?” Cartman rounded the couch to stand in front of him. “Why is it everybody misconstrues my genius?”

“Can’t misconstrue assholery.” 

“I gave you the perfect alibi,” Cartman said. “Even called your boss just now.” 

Kenny straightened. “Wait, really? You did?”

“Yes! I sold it to him good, too. I suspect he’ll send a gift basket tomorrow, or at least a card.” 

“Oh.” Kenny looked at his cast of bright orange plaster. “Do we have any Sharpies around?” 

Cartman flourished a marker from his pocket. “I’m glad you asked. Brought ya these, too,” he added, tossing a pack of smokes and a lighter in Kenny’s lap.

Kenny rolled his eyes and scooted to the side. “Come here, you psychopath.” 

Cartman pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. “Help me get this fucking contraption off first.”

Kenny leaned forward and fumbled with the girdle, one handed. “This would be easier if my arm wasn’t broken,” he said.

“Everything would be easier if you weren’t a Lovecraftian halfbreed,” Cartman quipped. 

Rolls of fat expanded with his stomach as the girdle finally dropped to the floor, and the couch creaked when he sat. He released a long sigh and pillowed his head on Kenny’s bony shoulder. “I’m exhausted,” he said. 

Weighed down by his physical burden, Kenny finally realized the literal weight of Cartman’s service. “Lay down,” he murmured. “Give your spine a break.” 

Cartman obliged, stretching horizontal across the couch. Kenny bit a cigarette between his teeth and lit it, then let it hang from his lips so that he could scratch his fingers through Cartman’s hair. 

He expertly puffed an exchange of smoke between his throat and nose whilst speaking. “You gonna make it?”

“I better,” Cartman said. “You wouldn’t survive without me.” 

“That’s true,” Kenny said. “How’s it feel?” 

Cartman’s hands drifted across his stomach in absentminded circles. “Really weird.”

“Weirder than an alien probe up your ass?” 

“Weirder than anything I’ve felt before. Here, check it out.” 

Cartman guided Kenny’s hand to the side of his stomach. Kenny pressed down inquisitively. The several eggs butted against his palm, pulsating strangely. All of a sudden the spot went taut. Cartman made a small noise and gripped Kenny’s hand. The moment passed, and he relaxed. 

“What the fuck was that?” Kenny asked. 

“Cramps,” Cartman muttered. “There’s no room in there. I’m jampacked.”

“That’s been happening all day?” 

“Yeah.”

“Jesus. Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You can’t do anything about it.” 

Kenny plucked his cigarette out of his mouth and smashed it into an ashtray stationed on the coffee table, then looked down with a grin. “You forgot I have a magic cock, now."

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Keep it in your skirt.” 

Kenny paused. “Huh?” 

“I’m too tired,” Cartman said. He settled deeper into Kenny’s side and shut his eyes. “I’m gonna take a nap.” 

“But - “ 

“Relax. We’ll fuck when I wake up.” 

“Fine,” Kenny sighed. He lit another cigarette and resumed watching the empty TV.   
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> seeing as i have 3 concurrent WIPs updates will probably be slow. plus i am working on a kenman zine. i'll post details as the project progresses. 
> 
> i promise this story has real plot but for now enjoy the smut.
> 
> disclaimer: cartman's views are within the limits of canon typical assholery and do not reflect the author's opinion

Too exhausted to give a damn about the awkward bend in his side, Kenny remained wedged between Cartman and the couch’s armrest. He conked out before he knew it, half-finished cigarette slipping from his fingers, and reawoke hours later to the sound of Cartman’s retching and the smell of burnt carpet. 

Kenny wiped the drool off his chin, pushed his hair back, and reluctantly rose from the couch, bypassing his fallen cigarette on the way to the bathroom. He found Cartman kneeling on the floor in nothing but his boxers, forehead braced against the toilet bowl.

“Hey,” Kenny said. 

Cartman turned his head. A green pallor had taken over his skin. “Hey.” 

“You should’ve woken me up,” Kenny said. 

Cartman attempted a half-assed grin. “But you looked so peaceful.”

Kenny rolled his eyes and crouched next to him. “I know you’ve got this whole show-no-weakness, give-no-quarter thing, but c’mon, dude. It’s just me.” 

Cartman’s grin morphed into a grimace. He clutched the toilet seat with renewed vigor and spat into the bowl. “I’m _ fine _.”

“You don’t look fine.” Kenny peered at the toilet bowl and scrunched his nose and its contents: “Neither does that.” 

“I can’t fucking eat anything,” Cartman said, holding his current position in case he got sick again. “I tried heating up a pizza but couldn’t keep it down.” 

Kenny nodded at his stomach. “Maybe you don’t got any room.” 

Cartman flushed the toilet and leaned against the wall of the bathtub. He instantly listed to one side, too weak to force his spine upright under the weight of his massive encumberment. “It’s not that. I’ve still got an appetite. But everything tastes goddamn _ disgusting _.” 

Kenny frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. It’s just pizza. You love pizza.” 

“I know I love pizza,” Cartman barked. His irritation colored some of the green hue in his face back to red but the burst of energy was short lived. He settled against the bathtub, eyes half-lidded. “I love pizza more than _ you _.” 

“At least drink some water,” Kenny said in lieu of commenting on the admission - it was the closest Cartman had ever come to admitting any sort of affection, and if pointed out he would immediately retract the sentiment. “You should probably stay hydrated and whatever.” 

“Fine,” Cartman sighed. “Help me up.” 

Kenny hoisted him onto his feet and guided him into the bedroom. “You need to lay down. In _ bed _.” He lowered Cartman across their new linen sheets. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Cartman rolled onto his side. “Whatever.” 

Kenny went into the kitchen and filled a glass with tap water. A cheap pepperoni pizza sat atop the stove, cut into squares. Kenny scarfed down a few slices and nervously awaited its backward return, but nothing happened—apparently his diet had remained unchanged; how lucky. He shoved a couple more pieces down his throat, then returned to the bedroom. 

“Here you go.” 

“It’s hot,” Cartman said. 

“Kind of,” Kenny agreed. He reached across the bed and set the water on Cartman’s side table. “We shoulda fixed the AC when we had the chance.” 

“Open a window.”

“Yes, dear,” Kenny obliged.

Cartman shivered at the draft that breezed into the room. “Ah, yeah. That’s nice.” 

Kenny slipped his shirt off. It was a little difficult given that one of his arms was encased in plaster, but he managed to accomplish the task, then divested the jockstrap borrowed from Cartman next which chafed his dick like sandpaper upon descent. He decided to keep his skirt on for no particular reason other than it was kind of like a nightgown and the soft fabric soothed his sore balls. 

“You look hot,” Cartman told him once he’d finished stripping. 

Kenny blinked. “Really?” 

Cartman nodded, his hair splayed across a pillow. “Yeah. Androgynous and shit. You’re more of a tranny than I am.” 

“But you told me you aren’t a tranny,” Kenny reminded as he wormed into bed. “I thought you only suffered from a medical condition called missing dick-itis.” 

“I do,” Cartman said. He eased into Kenny’s hold, back pressed into Kenny’s back. “My hormones are all fucked up, you know. I’m practically a mutant.” 

“Uh-huh,” Kenny said. 

“Probably on account of my ginger genes,” Cartman went on. “I’ve been infected by an impure bloodline.” 

“You sound like a Nazi,” Kenny chastized. 

“I’m not a Nazi. If I was a Nazi I wouldn’t commisserate with Kyle at all, for starters.” 

“You said he had a hooked nose earlier today!” 

“He _ does _. That’s a fact, not a moral judgement.” 

Kenny flicked his shoulder. “It’s a _ stereotype. _”

“Stereotypes are stereotypes because there’s a morsel of truth in all of em,” Cartman said. He rolled around to face Kenny head on, looking a little less sickly. Some good old ideological aerobics always perked him up. “Take black people eating watermelon, for example.” 

“I’m not gonna listen to another vaguely racist tirade,” Kenny warned him. 

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say! Just chill for a second,” Cartman snapped. “It all began after the Civil War - “ 

“Jesus Christ - “ 

“Let me speak! After the Civil War, all the slaves were emancipated, right? They had to make a buck. So they started growing watermelons. And it became this huge deal. White people were like, look at all these goddamn negroes with their goddamn watermelons. They turned it into a smear campaign. So _ that _ stereotype is founded on solid, historical precedent.” 

“What about Kyle’s nose?” Kenny asked. 

“That’s genetics,” Cartman said. “Just like my screwed up hormones and chromosomes and whatever else. The point is Jack Tenorman’s sperm is the reason I’m a mutant, which means he’s also to blame for my current state, and thus my inability to enjoy pizza.”

That was a pretty far stretch. Kenny hooked his plastered arm around Cartman’s shoulders and pulled their naked chests together with the hope it’d shut him up. “Don’t speak ill of the deceased, dude.” 

Cartman scoffed. “I talk shit about you, don’t I? _ You’re _practically a zombie, aren’t you?” 

Kenny pulled back, his brow furrowed. “You _ remember _ that?” 

“Of course.” Cartman tapped his forehead. “You think I’d let something like _ that _ slip? I have retained years’ worth of way less important intel on you, Kenny. It’s all in my memory palace.”

Kenny blinked, partly amused and partly disconcerted. “Intel? Like what?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Cartman said. “Your shoe size, your social security number, 

“But… You don’t remember me dying, ever.” 

“I’ll remember it in abstract,” Cartman promised. “Once it’s in the vault, I’ll never forget.” 

Kenny dropped back into his pillow. “Doubt it.” 

“You doubt _ me _?”

“I doubt the fact that anybody can remember me at all,” Kenny huffed. “You don’t get it. I used to die, like, constantly. And nobody gave a shit.” 

“Well, don’t take it up with me. Ask Daddy Cthulhu.” Cartman poked Kenny’s shoulder when he remained stonily silent. “Hey. It hasn’t happened lately, has it? If it does, you should tell me.” 

“No,” Kenny said. “I don’t die anymore.” 

“Why not?”

He glanced away. “It’s stupid.” 

Cartman frowned. Actually, it was more of a pout. Kenny couldn’t remember the last time they’d talked like this, always too busy working or fucking or sleeping to hold a genuine conversation. He’d forgotten what it was like to see Cartman let his guard down, albeit at the smallest degree. “Tell me,” Cartman insisted. 

“Can I play with your boobs if I do?” 

Cartman laughed. “You can do anything you want with em.” 

Kenny grasped one of Cartman’s pillowy breasts for comfort. “Part of it’s I’ve just been lucky,” he guessed. “I’m also trying really hard not to die. Which is more difficult than it sounds. The universe is out to get me. But I don’t wanna, like...miss out on time I could be spending with you.” Cartman didn’t say anything, so Kenny continued speaking to his boob. “It used to be I just did whatever stupid shit I wanted no matter what happened. But when I die I don’t come back right away. Sometimes I’m gone for a few days, or a week, or three months. My life’s pretty sweet right now, though, so…” 

He shrugged and trailed off, glancing up. Cartman pursed his lips, his gaze intense yet unreadable. “You’re an idiot,” he said. He wrapped his thick arms around Kenny’s shoulders and shoved Kenny’s face between his tits. “You’re like a little baby. I gotta keep an eye on you now. Make sure you don’t walk off a cliff or get smashed by a piano.” 

“Mmmff,” Kenny replied. He couldn’t breathe, but being trapped in Cartman’s crushing embrace was worth the price of asphyxiation. 

“I’ll putcha in one of those suits,” Cartman went on. “Where nothing’ll ever get ya. Or maybe I’ll keep you in the basement all to myself, nice and safe.”

Kenny wiggled his head up through Cartman’s arms. “Sounds good,” he panted, resting his chin on Cartman’s clavicle. “Can I molest your titties, now? I’m emotionally compromised.” 

Cartman released him. “Knock yourself out, Ken.” 

Kenny nosed his way downward and closed his lips around Cartman’s left breast. Soft, warm flesh filled his mouth to the brim. He moaned contentedly, palming the undercarriage as he licked a stripe around the areola. 

“Fuck,” Cartman hissed, twisting closer. He tangled his fingers in Kenny’s long hair, a vicious sort of encouragement.

Kenny sucked on Cartman’s nipple then released it with a pop. Moistened with saliva, it pebbled in the cool air. Kenny gave its counterpart the same treatment and began switching between the two with increased gusto. 

Cartman seemed to be enjoying it, until he froze all of a sudden and yanked Kenny off of him. “Stop! Cut it out!” 

Kenny blinked dazedlly. “What? What’s wrong?” 

“I dunno,” Cartman whined. He released Kenny’s hair to cup his breasts. “They _ hurt _.” 

“Lemme see,” Kenny said. He pinched one of Cartman’s nipples between his fingers. 

Cartman slapped his hand. “Ouch - don’t do that, fuckface!” 

“Eric. Got milk?” 

Cartman’s eyes widened. He looked down to see a small pearlescent drop of milk bead from his nipple. “No way.”

Kenny coaxed the offending nub. “This is so dope.” 

“I’m goddamn broodmare,” Cartman bemoaned. “I’m fucking _ lactating _.” 

“I’m into it,” Kenny disclaimed. 

“At least you’ve got your fap material,” Cartman huffed. He rolled his eyes at Kenny’s bemused look. “Take _ care _ of it, asshole.” 

Kenny latched onto Cartman’s breast once more, barely able to contain his excitement. Lukewarm milk petered out onto his tongue. It tasted...weird. Not bad, but not good, either. The eroticism of the situation overrode any palette sensitivity. 

Kenny suckled until the dam finally broke. Milk streamed down his throat at an endless rate. He swallowed it dutifully, then set off on activating Cartman’s other breast. The discarded teat continued to dribble, forcing Cartman to knead it himself. 

Milk percolated down his stomach. Noticing this, Kenny wiggled further down the bed and licked the trail of milk off his overheated skin. Cartman caught onto his plan and began palpating his other breast. Kenny worked on both streams of milk, cooling Cartman’s skin in the process as his stomach tightened and heaved with every haggard breath. 

The telltale scent of Cartman’s arousal soon filled the room. Kenny scooted south as Cartman pulled his legs up and spread them apart so that his calves bracketed Kenny’s shoulders. 

Kenny laid flat on the bed, ignorant of the pain shooting through his broken arm pinned under his chest. With his free hand he tugged Cartman’s boxers down to reveal a damp thatch of dark brown curls.

“Kenny,” Cartman muttered. He tangled his wet fingers in Kenny’s hair and nudged his hips up in a silent command. 

“I’m on it, don’t worry,” Kenny assured, thumbing Cartman’s labia apart. His nostrils flared as an eager helping of viscous slick oozed onto the bedsheets. “We need a towel.” 

“Fuck that,” Cartman huffed. 

“You can’t forget to bring a towel,” Kenny said with the same amount of practicality Kyle used when reciting Jew Scouts code. He slinked off the edge of the bed onto his knees and pawed through the laundry strewn across the floor. “Got one!” 

“Fantastic,” Cartman said. “Get back here.” 

Kenny’s head popped above the mattress. “Don’t be so impatient - “ 

He cut off at the sight of Cartman inserting three of his sausage link fingers into himself. Cartman lifted an eyebrow, the motion nearly eclipsed by his huge stomach. “I’m not waiting around for _ sanitary _ purposes.” 

“We - we can’t let these sheets get nasty,” Kenny said. “They gotta last two weeks.” 

Cartman torqued his fingers. A gratuitous amount of slick squelched past his hand. “Uh-huh.” 

Kenny scrambled back on the bed and shoved the towel under Cartman’s ass. “There,” he said. “We’re all set.” He returned to his previous battle station, but Cartman did not allow him immediate access. “What the hell, bro?” 

“Don’t be so impatient,” Cartman parrotted. He gripped one of his meaty thighs with his free hand and pulled his leg back, offering Kenny a perfect view of his pistoned ministrations. He wouldn’t drop the act unless Kenny suffered a little, continuing to tease him as he squeezed his pinky finger in, “Your dad’s cock really loosened me up. More than _ yours _ ever has.” 

Kenny gripped the towel to stave off his reflexive need to devour Cartman’s sopping cunt. “I can - I can see that.”

“Might call him up again when I need a good fuck,” Cartman added. “How’d you like that, Kenny? Watching your alien pops pound me better than you ever could?”

“I’d hate it,” Kenny answered. “Eric, c’mon. Let me at it.” 

Cartman thumped Kenny’s head with his foot. “Y’don’t tell _ me _ no. All I want to hear from you is yes, sir.” 

“Yes, sir,” Kenny said. 

Cartman retracted his hand and shoved his fingers into Kenny’s mouth. Kenny choked at the abrupt intrusion, then belatedly lathed his tongue over Cartman’s pruney fingers, nefarious secretions mixing with the milk still in the back of his throat. His jaw cracked as Cartman forced his hand deeper still, suffocating him. “Mmmff,” he grunted, which roughly translated to: _ You’re gonna fucking kill me! _

Cartman scoffed. He finally removed his hand, used it to bitch slap Kenny across the face. “You’re such a pussy.”

“Yes, sir,” Kenny gasped.

Appreciative of the obedience, Cartman tossed his legs behind Kenny’s back, ankles crossed at his shoulder blades, and yanked him forward. Kenny gleefully faceplanted into Cartman’s vagina, parted his lips to accept the mouthful of wet pubes, and went to _ fucking _ town. He tongued Cartman’s inner walls: nose squished against Cartman’s pubic bone, chin scratching the towel. This went on until his tongue started cramping, whereupon Cartman slid a hand back into his hair and gave it a tug. Kenny lifted his head, awaiting further command. 

“Up,” Cartman ordered.

Kenny wiggled his uninjured arm out from under his chest, snapped a quick salute, then pulled Cartman’s clitorial hood down and suctioned his lips around the adorable little cock therein. 

Years of hormone therapy had bumped it up to a distinguished “above average” in T.M.I scale, but that didn’t mean much logistically speaking so Kenny had to get creative with his technique: first, he teased the tip in between the gap in his front teeth, then swirled his tongue around its base before hallowing his cheeks.

Cartman wrapped Kenny’s hair around his fist for purchase and bucked his hips up into Kenny’s mouth, punctuating their synchronized pace with frantic grunts which quickly devolved into pained whining the more sensitive he grew. “Ahh—ah, unh—oh, shit!” 

Kenny slurped till Cartman’s red rocket turned inflamed and twichty on his tongue, then slowed down and popped off to provide a brief reprieve. 

“Don’t _ stop _, asshole!” Cartman targeted Kenny with a deadly glare over the dome of his stomach. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Kenny cocked his hand into the shape of a gun. “Permission to finger you, sir?” 

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Fine—but be quick about it!” 

“Yes, sir.”

Cartman’s drenched cunt swallowed Kenny’s fingers like a blackhole, lubricated an exorbitant amount; Cthulhu’s influence no doubt, Kenny thought—thanks Dad!

Two fingers became three, then four, then he was fisting Cartman at a brutal pace. “Jesus,” he sighed, mesmerized once again by the tenacity of Cartman’s epic snatch. Sometimes he wanted to crawl up in there and live forever protected by its muscular warmth. He quirked his fist, wrist tendons flexing in a wreath of dark curls. “You’re so fucking—_ awesome _, dude.”

“Thanks,” Cartman wheezed. He patted the crown of Kenny’s head. “That’s real sweet, Ken.” 

Kenny’s fist went still at the nickname. “Aww…” 

“Oh, Christ. Yeah, you’re the king of pussy, yadda yadda,” Cartman drawled. “Just hurry _ up _.”

Kenny kissed the inner flab of his thigh. “Want me to fuck you?” 

“No! You’ve already drawn this out long enough!” 

“Okay—chill out, I’m on it!” 

Kenny went back to work before he got slapped again, gulping Cartman’s cock down as his fist reanimated. Cartman went quiet, too busy losing his mind to bitch, a sign that he was close to finishing. Kenny doubled his efforts: in and out, gobble, gobble, their rhythm kicked up to an eleven. 

“Kenny,” Cartman panted, “Kenny, you bastard! I fucking hate you!” 

“Mmmgfm,” Kenny replied. His knuckles slammed up into Cartman’s g-spot—the magic button. He released Cartman’s cock just in time, fluids squirting across his face and open mouth. “Ah, yeah. That’s the stuff.” 

Cartman fell limp. “Fucking—_ fuck _. Wow.” 

Kenny shuffled up onto his knees. “Pretty good, huh?” 

“It was alright,” Cartman conceded. “Do you want me to…?” 

Kenny glanced down at the tent in his skirt and shrugged. “Nah. I gotta save it for you, don’t I?” 

“Pfft. I think you can spare to lose some spunk, dude.”

“I’m not too worried about it right now,” Kenny said, and he wasn’t. He licked his lips, then ate the cum off his hand, grinning. “I got enough of yours.” 

“You’re sick,” Cartman said. He patted the empty mattress space beside him. “C’mere.” 

Kenny laid down, immediately spooned to Cartman’s soft chest. He rolled onto his side to give his broken arm some room and also avoid the belly full of eggs between them. Cartman smoothed the mess of hair away from his face and leant down to kiss him. 

Kenny eased backwards after a second. “You taste like puke.”

“Oh, thanks,” Cartman huffed. 

“Here…” Kenny reached behind himself and grabbed the glass of water. “Have this.” 

Cartman sat up against the pillows, took a long drink, then swished the remaining water around his mouth and spit it back into the cup. 

Kenny’s nose scrunched. “Duude, yuck!” 

Cartman placed the glass aside and laid back down. “Fuck you.” 

“Fuck _ you _,” Kenny retaliated. He nuzzled back into Cartman’s side and grapsed one of his breasts. “My little broodmare…” 

Cartman rustled his shoulder. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry.” Kenny slipped his hand around Cartman’s breast, let it sit in his impressive cleavage. “It’s pretty hot, though.” 

“Yeah, well. So’s your dick.” 

“At least we’re getting some awesome sex outta this, huh?” 

“I thought sex with you was already pretty awesome to begin with,” Cartman admitted. “But, sure.” He gave Kenny another, more tasteful kiss. “Go to sleep, jackass.”

**Author's Note:**

> couldn't help myself. here's part two. read part one for context.
> 
> to be continued.


End file.
